Letters
by Lona W. Hall
Summary: Series of letters between Edward and Bella while Edward is in prison. Please see the a/n in chapter 1 for warnings before reading. Rated M for mature themes.
1. One: First Letter From Bella

**__This will be the only author's note so please give it a look. This story will consist entirely of letters between the two - at least, that is the plan for now. It may change. Bella is a rape victim. While I will won't describe the actual rape - there will be references to the after-math. Edward is in prison, prison is a tough place. If either of these two concepts are difficult for you, you may want to choose to read a different story. This story will not be beta'd since letters are not beta'd. I'm also not using a pre-reader since I'm going to be writing these when my other stuff is with Kat and Sarita. Chapters will be short, but hopefully frequent. Thanks!**

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><p><em>Dear Edward,<em>

_I wasn't sure if I would ever write this. Even now, I'm not sure I'll send it. You're not where you are because you did anything for me, at least, not on purpose. I'm not sure _why _you're there. As far as I'm concerned, you could have gone on doing what you were doing till the cows came home. But then, well, maybe that would mean something about you instead of about the people you killed. I don't know._

_I'm going to come right out and say it. I was one of James Hunter's victims. Until you killed him, and then later came forward and confessed, I didn't have a name to put to the face. All I had was a miserable life filled with depression, physical injury and pain. You coming forward and letting the world...me...know he was dead... I know what all the do-gooders say. We must forgive, revenge is not the answer. Its not our place to judge... Maybe it says something about me then, but it does help that he's dead! I'm glad he's not out there hurting other girls. I'm glad I never have to worry about him finding me again. It's bad enough I haven't yet been able to go out at night since the attack two years ago. My life has ended, so, yeah, I'm glad his did too._

_That's why this card says, "Thank you" on the front. Sorry, I couldn't find any cards that didn't have either cartoons or flowers. Neither seemed appropriate, but I figured it didn't really matter anyway. Maybe you like flowers. If you prefer cartoons, I hope you'll tell me. _

_Yes, I hope you'll write back. I'm not sure why, but I want to know more about you. In all the press coverage you received, you never said a word. You waived your right to a trial so all we saw was your one word answers to the judge when he sentenced you. I recorded it; I watch it over and over. You stood there incredibly still and straight, looking the judge in the eye. He looked like he was pissing himself! His voice shook when he read your sentence. Life in prison, no parol. I cried. I'd known better, but hoped there was a chance you'd get out eventually. I wanted to be able to thank you in person someday. You may have scared every one in that room, but you didn't scare me. How could they not see it? Every person you killed deserved it, you made the world a better place and saved countless numbers of lives. They should have given you a medal, not threw you away for life._

_But, is that what you wanted? You turned yourself in, the police said they had nothing. Probably, they would have never caught you. Will you tell me why you surrendered? I know it's none of my business, and I'll still be grateful to you anyway, I hope you'll tell me though._

_I'm not sure if this letter came out right. It wasn't easy to write, and I hope it's not difficult to read. If you don't want me to write anymore, you can ignore me. I won't again unless I hear from you saying its okay. Regardless, please know I'll always be thankful for what you did. Always._

_Bella_


	2. Two: First Letter From Edward

**J.A. Jenks Attorney at Law**

**15 State Road**

**Seattle, WA 98115**

_Dear Ms. Swan;_

_Enclosed, please find a letter from Mr. Edward Cullen, currently incarcerated at the Washington Corrections Center. He has asked that all correspondence go through my office in order to ensure the highest level of discretion for what you choose to discuss. Mail sent to and from an attorney's office is privileged and can not be opened by the prison staff._

_Regards and at your service,_

_Jason Jenks_

Enclosure

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><p><em>Dear Isabella,<em>

_I hope the arrangement I have made with my attorney for our correspondence is acceptable. Your letter to me was open and honest, revealing much, and I do not wish for that to be exposed to the prurient minds that staff this facility._

_Please, do not take the above to indicate any goodness on my part. It is not my wish to mislead you; I _am _a killer, not an avenging angel. Never, for even a moment, forget that._

_J.H. kept pictures of all his victims. Each was taped to the wall next to his bed. After finishing with him, I viewed those pictures, wishing I could let each of the women know he was gone. Your face in particular, stood out to me. While I can't even imagine the condition you were in when the photo was taken, there was still fire in your eyes. He hadn't broken you. Isabella, I must confess that I took the picture, and have it with me now. Receiving your letter, learning a bit about the mind that goes with the photo, is a gift I do not deserve. Regardless, I appreciate it, and you, anyway._

_You wish to know why I turned myself in. I found it interesting that you did not ask why I killed in the first place. However, I will answer your question, and in the process, the other will be revealed as well. _

_The fact is, I kill because that is what I am, a killer. It is my nature, a part of me ever bit as much as my skin, my heart. To exist, I must kill. Yet, in truth, I do not want to be what I am. Since I couldn't..wouldn't... stop myself, I decided to let the Washington corrections department do it for me. There's your answer._

_Isabella, I too am glad that J.H., and all the others of his ilk I killed, are dead. But, please understand, I no longer wish to be the one eliminating the vile and depraved from the planet. While I consider myself to be without a soul, there is a small part of me that hopes, perhaps, that maybe I can still find a place of grace when there is no longer earth beneath my feet. Yet, with every body I left behind, I felt that growing less and less likely._

_Shall we lighten things up a bit? I prefer cartoons to flowers, Garfield being my favorite, The Far Side most likely to make me laugh, especially the ones with cows. How about you, Isabella? Is there anything that can make you laugh these days? Please, don't let your life be over; there is so much for you out there. Remember, the chances of lightning striking twice in the same spot are near zero. I won't pretend to even have a clue as to how you feel, or what I could say that would help, if anything. Know only that you shine, even in your darkest moment; I have the proof. You can go on._

_I hope to hear from you again, Isabella. Aside from my family, there are not many with whom I can enjoyably correspond. You appear to be one such person._

_Sincerely,_

_Edward_


	3. Three: Second Letter From Bella

_Dear Edward,_

_I'm still a bit in shock right now, I hope this letter makes at least some sense. _

_I honestly never thought you'd right back, or, if you did, that it would be brief and perfunctory. Maybe a quick, "fuck off," or "if you're so grateful, bring me some damn cigarettes," (which I did enclose, by the way, along with some Snowballs, not sure if you like either, but I heard they make for great currency.) For you to actually take the time to answer my questions, and to make the effort so that we had a private way to correspond, that really means a lot to me._

_But, why I wonder, do you tell me there is no goodness in that gesture? Are you warning me that you're going to hurt me? Take advantage of me? I hope not because, I'll be honest with you, it'd be really easy. Everything you wrote touched me in some way; if you're planning to use me for your own designs and then kill me like you did the rest, well, I guess I can only hope that you do it quick and painlessly. I'm not all that much concerned with having lots of time left on the planet. I guess that scenario would be difficult though; you're in there and I'm out here. It's not like I can break you out of prison. There goes that fantasy._

_I'm sorry. I'm being an incredible downer; I know. I promised myself though that if you wrote back, and if you sounded sincere, then I would give you honesty in return. What's the point otherwise? While I'm sure your life must stretch out in front of you endlessly from the prison walls, I'm guessing you'd rather not waste it dealing with someone trying to hide the truth. And, no, this is not a cry for help. I'm not going to off myself; I'd never give what he did that kind of significance. But, if I'm flailing around under water, and the waves are crashing over my head, maybe I won't try all that hard to reach the top._

_Edward, I hope you realize your explanation of why you kill was not exactly complete. If you're going to give me information I didn't ask for, at least be thorough. I mean, no human _has_ to kill another. Physically, thankfully, there is no biological requirement to do each other in on a regular basis. It sounds like you're making excuses, trying to make your choices seem like something else instead of taking responsibility for them. Why though? You made the decision to stop, to have yourself locked up so you wouldn't do it anymore. Why not be honest about your motives? Maybe I'm being a bitch here, maybe I should just be thankful for what you want to share, but I also do not want my time wasted with platitudes. You want to tell me why you killed? Then tell me, for real._

_So, you have a picture of me. You must have some idea of what I'd think when you wrote that, right? I didn't see the pictures he took, but I was there; I know what I looked like and what the pictures were of. Look, if you get some kind of pleasure out of seeing me like that, if I'm in your "spank bank," then that's fine. Again, don't sugar coat it by making it sound like you have some spiritual reason to keep that filth in your cell. There's nothing you can do alone that would be any worse than what he did to me while I was there._

_I don't laugh anymore, ever. I can't remember the last time I smiled, chuckled, or even groaned at a stupid joke. Sorry. But, yeah, The Far Side was cool before; I'll give you that. See, I won't argue with everything you say._

_It's funny, though obviously not in a ha ha kind of way—see above—that you believe you have no soul. I feel the same. I feel like mine was ripped away from me. Should I have to earn it back? Do I have to atone for what was done to me? What about you, if you have no soul, do you really believe that all you need to do is stop killing people to get one? Why would doing nothing make you deserving of the grace you're looking for? Especially when, by doing nothing, by sitting in your cell, all those innocent peoples who's lives would have been saved by your actions are dying, or being attacked._

_Well, Edward, I'm not sure if this was the enjoyable correspondence you had in mind. It's certainly not what I intended to write three hours and two rum and cokes ago when I sat at my desk. I know I'm not entitled to any of the information I asked for; yet I want it all the same. I'm greedy, I'll admit it. If you're going to give me some of yourself, I want it all. Something tells me, that if I can come to understand your actions, maybe there will be hope for me? I don't know._

_Hope you enjoy the balls and the smokes._

_Bella_

_P.S. Please don't call me Isabella anymore. That's what _he _called me. I'm just, Bella._


	4. Four: Second Letter From Edward

_Dear Bella,_

_I hope this letter finds you well, particularly since I am writing it against my better judgment. Your last missive gave the impression you put too much importance on what goes on in my head. However, I said I would write, and so I shall. _

_Please, Bella, know this. I am not someone who can ever become important to you. Our worlds were not meant to intersect. While you tangentially received an unintended benefit from one of my loathsome actions, it does not mean we are linked in some way. I feel as though you are expecting something I reveal to provide a measure of healing or comfort. Maybe some sort of explanation for what happened to you? Trust me, nothing could be further from the truth. While I detest what I am, even I truly believe his nature to have been far worse than my own._

_There are a couple other things I need to set absolutely straight here. _

_Your death will never be at my hands, whether you want it to be or not. _

_Your picture is not here for my amusement, nor that of anyone else. _

_If you would like, I can send the photo back to you. Daily, it reminds me that there is something of humanity worth protecting; I was afraid I would forget that fact while residing here among the dregs of society. However, if it concerns you that I have it, if you really think I would use it in such a disrespectful manner, then I'd rather send it on back to you._

_As hard as all that was to write, now I get to the truly challenging part of this letter. How do I explain to you why I've killed, and why I'll more than likely kill again? Imagine, if you will, a hunger stronger than any other you have felt before. A hunger that encompasses your whole body, leaving you weak and aching with a feeling akin to the most debilitating disease. Then, imagine one action on your part, an action that is as easy as breathing, would end all the misery. Would you do it? I did. Now, I'm choosing to live with the disease instead of appeasing it._

_Do you wonder, why am I this way? What did I do to cause this curse to fall upon me? The answer is, nothing. It truly is my nature. I can no more explain it than explain why water is wet._

_Can we speak of other things, Bella? I'd like for these letters to be about more than death and judgment. Would you like to tell me about yourself? Again, I ask this against my better judgment, I don't deserve to know more about you. But, with each word I write, I find it harder to maintain a distance. Never before have I considered revealing so much of myself. I find it cathartic, and I think that can only be because of you. It sounds horribly selfish, as I know I can't heal you; can you heal me? Of course not. But, then again, neither can these flimsy walls. If I can delude myself into thinking this place can provide some sort of redemption, maybe I can further delude myself into believing the grace I seek can come from you._

_So, how about it? Will you tell me of simple things? Your favorite color, perhaps? Your favorite gem stone? What activities you've enjoyed?_

_And, what on earth are those horrendous smelling, pink things you sent me? I've been afraid to even remove them from the package. Were you serious about using them as currency? I can imagine no other outcome were I to disburse them, than to be accused of poisoning the prison population. Oddly enough, even more so than the cigarettes. Seriously though, you needn't send me anything. There is nothing in here I want that can not be obtained through my own endeavors. Save your funds for more worthy purposes._

_I'm hopeful you will accept a gift from me, perhaps? My attorney is taking care of the actual transaction being as my options for commerce are limited here. While I don't want to ruin the surprise, I will say that this gift is intended to remind you of beauty that exists, even under the harshest of conditions._

_Yours,_

_Edward_


	5. Gift from Edward

_Dear Bella,_

_I hope you'll accept this small gift from me. It's something I feel symbolizes what I see in you, when I look at your picture._

_The cactus is a Selenicereus grandiflorus, also known as a Nightblooming Cereus or Queen of the Night. It blooms only once a year, during the night. By the morning, the flower is fading and will soon drop off._

_There is a bit of history behind this plant. You're probably unaware that I have siblings, two brothers and two sisters. When I turned myself in, I made no mention of my family in the hopes of leaving them out of the media storm. Fortunately, they are adept at staying out of the public eye, and I was never publicly linked to them._

_My sister, Rosalie, grew this little cactus I have sent to you. She is a gifted horticulturalist, specializing in cacti and succulents. Her interest in the plants actually started as a form of therapy. You see, Bella, she too was raped. An ordinary walk home from a friend's house turned tragic when her then fiance and his friends set upon her, leaving her for dead in the street after they'd taken their pleasure. Fortunately, my father, a doctor, found her in time._

_I hope you don't mind that I've contacted my sister and told her a bit about you. She gave me permission to share her story, in addition to sending you the cactus, in the hopes it might help you to know that healing is possible. It has taken Rosalie many years, and the love of an exceptional man, a man I count as a brother, to get beyond the horror of the attack. But, she has made it through. It is possible, Bella._

_Rosalie and her husband have done a lot of traveling in their time together. She loves going to deserts and exploring all of their secrets. They go at night mostly, avoiding the harsh sun of the day, and stick to places untouched by travel and tourism. It was on one of these excursions that Rosalie first saw a night blooming cactus. On a whim, she dug up the little plant and took it with her back to where they were staying. Putting it in an old, discarded coffee mug, she quickly did some research into identification and care of the plant. From then, she was hooked, and she now maintains a greenhouse with some of the most amazing specimens seen cultivated._

_Rosalie saw herself in the night blooming cactus. All year long, it is a tough and spiny plant, sitting in the desert, ready to stab any creature that comes near. And then, once a year, it finally feels ready to let down its guard and show its true beauty, but only at night, when no one can see it. That was how Rosalie felt for the longest time, like if she showed anyone her beauty, she would be putting herself in danger again. But, every once in a while, when she felt safe and secure, her personality would shine through, and she was glorious. And that, my dear Bella, is what I see in your picture._

_Rosalie has thoughtfully enclosed instructions for the care of the cactus. As you'll see, it has a tiny little bud on the top. That is the flower that has been building for the past year. I'm told it's due to bloom in around three weeks. That night, maybe you can stay up a bit later than usual, or maybe you're a night person like Rosalie and I; either way, watch and see the beauty the cactus will put forth. As we continue to exchange letters, I'll be watching for the same._

_Yours,_

_Edward_


	6. Six: Third Letter from Bella

_Dear Edward,_

_I'm sitting here at my desk, looking out my small, barred window (like yours, except mine are to keep people out, instead of keep me in—don't you just love the irony?) onto the scrubby vacant lot three floors below, and I have no idea what to write. It's been a good half hour since I placed this blank piece of paper in front of me and picked up this pen. _

_What have I been doing sitting here like a bump on a log for so long? Well, besides looking out the window, I've been staring at the cactus you sent me and wondering...how do you know me so well already? What have I revealed to let you know the one thing you could send that had any hope of bringing a little light to my day?_

_Eventually, I realized there was no graceful way to start this letter, which is when I decided to go with the word vomit method. Yes, I know, it's no different from any of my other letters. I guess I'd hoped to sound as intelligent as you eventually. How is it that you write the way you do? Honestly, you remind me of the letters I found when I cleaned out my grandfather's house after he died. There were several between him, my grandmother and his other family. You looked very young on the television, and more vicious than educated. I'm sorry if I sound like I'm insulting you. Maybe I should try re-wording everything, but I'm too tired._

_I was sorry to hear about what happened to your sister. Did you kill those men? I hope so. You're right, it is good to hear that she is doing better—I guess. I'm not sure. I'm happy for her, really. But, I don't know, I guess it still doesn't make me think it any more likely to happen for me. She was traveling the world, I'm scared to leave my apartment. Maybe she was stronger than me to start._

_You're probably wondering then why I like the cactus so much then. If you could see my apartment, you'd understand, maybe even laugh a little. Nearly every flat surface has a cactus on it. I used to live in Arizona, and I think I'm trying to recreate that environment here within these walls I never leave. Arizona was the last place I felt happy. I came to this sunless place after getting a job offer I couldn't refuse. Two weeks later, I'm in the hospital having my insides sewn back up. My company was very understanding, and has let me work from here instead of the office. I'm biding my time until I feel ready to go out into the sun again; maybe then, I'll go back home. Huh, looks I've got more hope than I thought after all? If you'd asked me when I sat down to write this letter, I would have never said a sentence like that would come from my pen._

_Enough about me, let's talk about you. Sorry, buddy, I'm still not buying your whole, "It's in my nature to kill" thing. You're not an animal hunting for its next meal—that's nature. What you did is something else entirely. Compare it to hunger all you want, but when a human kills another human, it's a choice, not a meal. But, hey, if you don't want to talk about it, whatever. I'm done pushing. Like I said, I'm tired._

_Fuck, I'm being a bitch, I know. Maybe you won't want to write to me after this. Whatever. I can't be something I'm not just to get you to write back. What'd be the point?_

_It would suck not to hear from you again though. You have the dubious honor of being the first person to make me laugh since my attack. I promise, the Snowballs are completely harmless. Someone will like them, even if you don't. Have you really never seen them before? I'd live on them if I could; chocolate cake, marshmallow, coconut—elysium._

_Shit, I really don't know what I'm trying to pull off here. I feel like I don't even know myself any more. I want to be this independent person that doesn't need anyone in their life. After all, I have no one. Parents, dead; siblings, none. If I can't change my circumstances, then what other option do I have but to change myself? But then, you do something like send me that cactus._

_Why did you do that? One moment you're telling me that I can never consider you important, and then you go and send me a gift that makes my heart feel almost alive again? Damn it, of course I'm going to get attached to you!_

_Do you feel like you don't deserve a friend? Is that it? Because, I really don't think I'm any better than you. You killed people, I wanted someone to die. Not much difference between us. If I'd had the means, I'd have killed him too. After all, being a killer is much more interesting than being a victim; anyone can be a victim. Does that make you feel better? That's about all I have to offer in the way of healing._

_It's funny, that you mention expectations. I really didn't expect anything from you, and I'm sorry if I gave you that impression. You seemed willing to talk, and I latched onto that. Discussing you was better than delving into myself. Funny, you seem to feel the same and keep turning the tables on me. Was I trying to compare your actions to his? Somehow learn what drove him to violate me from your crimes? If I was, it was unconscious; something to think about, I guess. Don't really have the energy right now._

_You want to know simple things? I'm not really into gems to tell you the trut;, I like glass, sea glass. Favorite color? Nothing specific; mostly I enjoy shades that shimmer and twist, like a dark, melting rainbow. One color by itself is boring._

_If we talk about activities, this letter is only going to put you to sleep. I read, a lot. Still do actually, that's the one thing that hasn't changed. It's my escape, and I need it now more than ever._

_Well, there you have it, I've answered all your questions, and threw in some vaguely coherent ramblings of my own. I'm doing my best to resist tearing up this paper and starting over._

_Go ahead and keep the picture, I'm sorry for what I said about it. See what you want in it, but I think you need to get your eyes checked. The only thing in that picture is a girl who's been used, abused and broken._

_Okay, I'm at the bottom of the page, and it's time to do what I swore I would do when I sat down. I want you to know that I'm literally terrified to put these words onto paper. But, there's something inside me that won't let me leave them off. And, I'm not making any promises either; this may work, or it may not, or you may not even give a shit and want me to do this...if you want to add me to your list of acceptable visitors, Edward, I'll try...TRY...to come. I'm not sure why on earth it seems to me like a prison would be the one place I can venture out to; it's an idea I can't shake though. What do you think?_

_If you're mine, then I guess that makes me..._

_Yours,_

_Bella_


	7. Seven: Third Letter from Edward

_Dear Bella,_

_I must say, I am in awe of your ability to send my emotions into a tailspin. Ask anyone who knows me, which is really only my family, and they will tell you I rarely do anything but brood and mope. Yet, in the small space of time it took me to read your letter, you've made me smile (didn't know my face could do that), rage, wish I could cry, and even make a very odd sound which I later identified as a chuckle. By the time I was done reading, I hardly recognized myself!_

_I sound old, do I? Well, Bella, I am old. I know I don't look it, but, trust me, the things I've seen have aged me well beyond my physical appearance. But, before you accuse me of prevaricating again, I will humbly reveal that my intelligence is a bit higher than average which fortunately lends itself to a more refined prose. Yes, I'm being a jerk now, trying to make you laugh again. Imagine, if we laugh every time we receive a letter from each other, why, that alone would improve our existences immeasurably._

_I know you and I have only exchanged a few letters, and I shouldn't presume to _know _you after such a brief period of correspondence, but you remind me of Rosalie, and that is why I think you'll eventually be able to heal as she did. Your tenacity, spunk, and willingness to reveal details about yourself in order to cut through bullshit, all remind me of her. Healing may not feel possible now, but that doesn't mean it's not._

_Speaking of tenacity, you, Miss Swan, are a very difficult lady to please. You're not letting me get away with anything, are you? Okay then, here's the deal; I've promised honesty, and I won't go back on that. But, there are things I'm not at liberty to reveal. It's not a lack of trust in you, more an ingrained need to protect my family which will not allow me to give away secrets that are not mine alone. Frankly, I've already said too much. So, I apologize for leaving you hanging, but I have to put an end to this line of questioning. I risked a lot simply by turning myself in and allowing the authorities to incarcerate me; I'm at my limit._

_You liked the cactus. Not only did you like the cactus, you love cacti. Bella, what are we to each other? I had hoped the gift would be well received, but you've given me a far greater gift in return, evidence of a connection that I established with a person. And yes, I know I said this shouldn't happen and that my actions have been contradictory. Truly, I'm lacking the ability to maintain distance any longer. I can't deny it; I feel you Bella. I understand you. And, amazingly, you understand me. How does that happen? You're bringing me to life and reminding me that I am a being with emotions and feelings._

_Yes, I want you to visit. I want to know if this is real. What will we see when we're face to face? Awkwardness? Shame? Understanding? Such a risk, yet, I'm ready to take it. That being said, never will you be sullied by the common visitation room this facility has to offer. I will not allow you to be seen by the other men here. My attorney will be sending you credentials listing you as an authorized liaison from his office. These will allow you and I to meet in a private room. I hope this is acceptable? You'll be quite safe; the room is visually monitored. If you're not comfortable with this, I do understand, but I can't meet with you in the common area. I'm sorry; I won't do it. Call me old fashioned, but a woman should not be exposed to such things._

_Bella, latch onto this please. Your last letter carried with it such deep sadness. Tell me you feel something between us too? If so, let it be your guide to the top of the water. Fight your way to the surface because I'll be waiting for you. Can you do that? You're not alone anymore. _

_Yours, and claiming you as mine,_

_Edward_


	8. Eight: Fourth Letter from Bella

_Wow, Edward! Talk about a tail spin. It seems like just a week ago you were pushing me away and now you want to say I'm yours? Like, really really yours? What does that even mean? I was starting to think of you as sort of a big brother or something. Protective, strong, dependable. Someone to give me advice and help me through the hard times. You're acting like we're going to be a couple or something. Is that really what you want? I'm very sorry if I've ever let you think that was even possible. It's not. I'll never again be with a man that way. _

_I don't understand what happened here, but now it's my turn to say I can never be something important to you. Maybe you thought because you're in prison, we'd have some sort of weird boyfriend / girlfriend relationship but never actually be together, and I'd be okay with that? Or, maybe you were thinking of a prison wedding and conjugal visits? Was the thing about the private room during a visit actually supposed to be some kind of fucked up booty call where you take me on a grimy table zillions of convicts have sweated on? What were you thinking? I really need to know!_

_I'm sorry to go off on you here; I really am. Part of me hopes I'll get to the end of this letter and then tear it up and maybe write something new when I've calmed down. But, I don't want to do that. Every time I've written to you, it's been complete honesty, holding nothing back. I can't start now. Because, I don't want to lose what we have. Please! Don't make this into a couple type relationship thing. I need you, maybe not like you were saying, but I really do need you. If you take yourself from me now, I don't know what the fuck I'll do. I promise, I'll stop asking about why you kill. I get that it's personal; I shouldn't have been so fucking pushy when you were obviously trying to be polite and say what you could._

_You claiming me as yours... that just freaked me out. I don't know, maybe among regular girls it would be considered sweet, masculine shit or something. I'm a fucking rape victim! The man you killed thought I was his too. He thought I was his possession and he could do anything he wanted with me. He'd break me, patch me up together, and then do what he wanted, not giving a shit less like I was a $5.00 toy he'd gotten at Walmart. When he was done with me, he literally threw me out of a window as if I was garbage, right after informing me he'd have no problem staging a second go around if I ever mentioned anything to the police. And, before that, when I'd be screaming and crying, he'd laugh and say I was his, and I'd better get used to it. But, like I said, he threw me away, so the fact that you killed him doesn't mean you get dibs._

_Fuck, I'm being a bitch. I know this. I'm sorry! I'm sure by now you're probably regretting ever answering my first letter. It doesn't matter anyway; I was stupid to think I could ever actually have any type of relationship with someone again, even a platonic one. All of my social skills, and I didn't have a lot to begin with, have been annihilated, and it's really best if I simply remain alone now. If you want to stop writing, I understand. I don't know, maybe someday they'll let you out and then you can find a girl able to truly be with you like you deserve. Someone you can let know everything, even why you kill. That girl ain't me though, and she never will be... _

_Goodbye._


	9. Outtake  Edward Surrenders

**A/N: My apologies as I know I promised no author's notes, but since this chapter is not like the others, I wanted to mention why. This is an outtake I wrote for Fandom for Preemies. It is not a letter but a story written to cover Edward's surrender for his crimes, meaning, this is pre-Bella. It will answer some questions, but may leave you with others. I hope you like it!**

The ringing of Edward's phone halted abruptly when his shoe stomped on the device, rendering it into a useless pile of technological dust. Alice. He was done talking about all the things that could go wrong, that were outside of their control. It was time to do this thing.

He took in a deep breath, what would be his last breath of fresh air for quite some time if things went the way he'd planned, before heading into the building in front of him. Brushing past an officer consoling a recent crime victim, he blocked as much as he could to prevent learning exactly what had been done to her. Given her appearance—the torn clothing, bruises, dead look in her eyes—he had a pretty good idea. Learning more would do nothing to keep him on his chosen path.

Once inside the building, he had to present himself to the front desk officer, a bored looking man whose day was about to get much more interesting.

"Hello, I need to speak with your captain regarding a series of crimes." He made sure to appear polite and non-threatening. It was of extreme importance the situation not escalate in any way that would make the officers think they had to subdue him.

"Do you have an appointment?" was the reply he received.

"No, but given the high profile nature of these crimes, I feel he would be best able to handle the situation." Edward knew it was unlikely the desk person would bring him right to the captain. He only wanted to make sure they knew up front he wasn't there about stolen newspapers or dogs shitting on daises.

"Sorry, the captain only meets with people by appointment only. You can speak with one of the detectives." He looked oddly pleased to be denying the request. Edward wasn't surprised to see that the man had been assigned to the desk as a punishment, and wanted to spread his misery to others as much as possible.

"That'll be fine, sir. Thank you."

The officer was disappointed at the lack of argument and bruskly told Edward to go sit; someone would be out to see him in a moment.

Edward strode over to the sad row of metal folding chairs provided for those that needed to wait in this dreary place. Unlike some of the smaller town stations in the state, this station, handling the busy city of Seattle, showed no interest in appearing open and welcoming. Posters showing large, fierce looking police men and women denounced everything from drunk driving to wife beating. A display case showed a variety of weapons that, according to the small metal tag on the bottom, had been seized during arrests. Edward's eyebrows raised up in surprise when he saw a bear claw in the case. He assumed it must have come from one of the indigenous tribes that still inhabited the area. Thinking of the local Native Americans made him wince when he considered, once again, the impact his decision would have on his family. He'd done all he could, though, to distance himself from them in the past year. Currently, he was the only one using the name Cullen. The rest were Hale this time. Nothing connecting him to them could be traced. He pictured them in their Wisconsin home, going about their day, but worrying about Edward all the same as they knew today was the day he turned himself in.

He pushed up from the seat, frustrated with the direction his thoughts had gone in, only wanting to get this over with now. Pacing back and forth, barely keeping his speed in check, he nearly forgot to wait for the detective to open the door first before heading to him. He halted in the middle of the room, grateful that someone was finally on the way.

A buzzing sound preceded the heavy metal door opening, and a non-nondescript man entered the room. He was older, a bit on the portly side with a receding hairline and prominent beer belly. Edward was almost amused at how exactly he fit the typical detective stereotype.

The man gave Edward a good once over before fully entering the room. Edward focused on relaxing his stance to appear less threatening and met the detective's gaze head on.

"You wanted to speak to us about some crimes?" the detective asked.

"Yes, sir. I'm Edward Cullen."

"Detective Mailk. Follow me."

He led him into a room that was packed to the walls with small office cubicles. The room stank of dirty carpeting, smoke odor left over from when smoking was allowed indoors, and thousands upon thousands of cups of spilled coffee.

"This is for the officers. We're in the next room."

At the back of the officer's area, they took a right and headed through a set of double doors before entering another room that was only marginally better than the last. The carpet was maybe a few years newer and the cubicles boasted taller walls and larger desks. The detective led Edward to one of the few cubes that had a window, which led Edward to believe that while he may not have been given to the captain, he was at least meeting with an experienced person and not a rooky.

Detective Mailk settled into his well worn chair and waived Edward into the metal one provided for guests to the man's work space.

Edward took a brief moment to learn a bit more about the Mailk from his office. He appeared to be a relatively neat person, no untidy piles of papers left lying around. The computer was a bit off to the side and dusty, signifying someone who preferred the old ways of pen and paper. Little cartoon cut outs adorned one of the walls; one showed a group of cows seemingly in the process of planning the farmer's murder when caught by the farmer. He had to admit, if it wasn't about to be such a rotten day, he'd probably have gotten a little bit of amusement from the picture.

"Well, I'm assuming you didn't come here just to take a look at my lovely office. Whatcha got?"

"Sir, I need to hand you a list." Edward slowly removed the piece of paper from his shirt pocket, not wanting the officer to think for any reason he might have a weapon on him. "The names on this list are people who are currently listed as missing in the state of Washington."

Edward handed the list over and waited for the detective to look it over.

"Okay, I'll have to take your word for it. You know something about these missing persons?"

Images of the men on the list flashed through Edward's mind. Everything he knew about them: where they lived, their victims, how they'd looked when he' met them, and how they'd looked as they died. Their last thoughts were burned into his memory, as much as he'd like to forget. Images of the things they'd done, taken directly from their own memories, briefly had him questioning what he was about to say. But, no; he couldn't back out now. It was time to end this phase of his life.

"I killed them."

The detective's eyebrows rose up high in surprise at the words.

"Come again?" he asked, incredulously.

"I. Killed. Them." Edward elucidated each word, knowing the man had heard him perfectly well the first time, and irritated at having to repeat himself. Again, he reminded himself to stay calm. Impatience would serve him no where now. This was all part of the process of coming back to human society, learning how to deal with them without wanting to rip them to pieces.

"You did. And how did you accomplish that?" Edward could tell the detective didn't believe him and thought Edward was some type of nut job attention seeker.

"I broke their necks." While Edward needed the detective to believe him, there was only so much information he could reveal to that end. The bodies were no longer recoverable. This was all going to have to be done based on Edward's confession, which could only be partly truthful.

The detective looked him over again, his thoughts showing that he still thought Edward a nuisance instead of a murderer. "You know, young man, breaking someone's neck isn't as easy as it looks on them cop shows they got on TV. It takes strength and know how. Sorry, but you don't look like you've got much of either. You're bringing a world of trouble onto yourself coming in here with these stories. You want to make it home to dinner tonight, come up with a good explanation for this, and I might just let you go on out of here."

Thoughts of avoiding a mountain of paperwork and use of the hated computer were what prompted the man's supposed benevolence. This was going to be harder than Edward had hoped.

"Excuse me for not being more descriptive," Edward replied. "Using my hands, I grasped each victim by the head and twisted, shattering the bones in the neck and severing the spinal cord. I do, in fact, have the strength and knowledge needed to kill a man this way. I've done it several times and find it to be very efficient."

Edward kept staring at the detective, willing him to see the monster behind the oddly colored black eyes staring at him. It was a tough rope to walk, he didn't want the man to feel too threatened in that he'd attempt to tackle him or shoot him, but he also needed to be taken seriously so things would start to move along.

Finally, the man focused a bit harder on Edward, taking in more than just his youthful appearance and good manners. Danger lurked there, he finally saw, and it made him very nervous.

Edward felt like he needed to settle him down now before he got too jumpy. "I promise I'm not going to hurt anyone here. The only thing I want is to turn myself in as amicably as possible. Whatever you need me to do, let me know, and I'll do it."

The detective leaned back in his chair a bit, putting distance between them, and seemed at a loss as to what to do next. It wasn't every day that someone seemingly completely normal came in and confessed to being a prolific serial killer.

Edward could see the confusion in the man's thoughts and attempted to help him out. "Sir, if you'd like, you can go ahead and arrest me and read me my rights. That will get the ball rolling. You can also give that list to one of your people and have them start confirming all of them are missing and have not been heard from."

The detective narrowed his eyes at Edward, unhappy with being told what to do by this supposed killer sitting in his office like they were having a fucking board meeting. In his ire, the earlier discomfort he'd felt in Edward's presence was forgotten.

"You listen here," he retorted, angrily. "I know damn well how to handle things. I'll arrest you when I'm good and ready; there's no point in doing any of that when my guess is you're a fucking loon who's missing from the crazy nest."

Edward sighed, disappointed that his effort had backfired on him. He leaned back in the chair and drew up one leg, allowing the ankle to rest on the thigh of the other, a common human pose of relaxation. "I'll just wait here then until you let me know what you'd like from me. I apologize for forgetting my place."

Detective Mailk looked at him with suspicion, clearly not trusting someone who claimed to be a killer one moment but was agreeable and friendly the next. Keeping his eyes locked on Edward, he shouted out to the room for one of the other detectives.

"Kale, get in here!"

A tall, skinny younger detective showed up in the doorway and responded. "Yeah, boss?"

"Take this here list and run it through the system. See what comes up for these names."

"On it."

Kale left on his errand, and Mailk went back to staring at Edward with a fierce glare. His thoughts revealed he was not happy with this disruption in his routine. Nearing the end of his career, he had a cushy job reviewing old cases and supervising a small group of detectives on the side. He no longer cared about his statistics or arrest record; keeping it simple till the day he got his shiny gold watch was all that mattered.

Edward considered trying to appease the man again, but decided he'd more than likely only do more harm than good. He maintained his pose, fidgeting once in a while for affect, and waited for the detective's next move.

"Well, boy. If you did indeed kill them, go on and tell me why you did it."

"Sir, I'd like to officially waive my rights before revealing anything else. I'd hate for the information I give to be thrown out in court due to a technicality." Edward really didn't want to have to challenge the man on the procedure, but he also didn't want red tape getting in the way of everything going quickly and smoothly.

Mailk snorted, "Everyone thinks he's an expert just cause they've watched those lame ass cop shows on the TV."

He sighed and then spun his chair around to a file cabinet behind him, yanking open a drawer. Edward would have loved to point out that the man was pouting like a two year old, but, again, not really worth it.

"All right, mister legal expert. I'm going to read you these here rights. You'll get to sign once I've read them saying you understand, and then you'll sign further down saying you're waiving 'em."

Mailk read off the rights in a bored voice, clearly having lost his respect for the process during his career as a detective. It was hard for Edward to sympathize, given how long he'd lived already and how much more he had to go. Mailk was no more than a child to him, far too young to already be bored with life.

Edward signed and then started talking. "As your detective will no doubt find out, the men I killed were all hardened criminals themselves. Each has raped and murdered multiple times, and I felt it was time an end was put to their activities."

"You're telling me you're some kind of vigilante?"

"You could say that."

Mailk looked at him a moment longer. "You know any of the victims?"

"No."

"What made you choose them then? How'd you know what they'd done?"

"The crimes themselves caught my attention," Edward replied. "I used the information published on each one and worked from there to find the perpetrators. My methods don't really matter. They're dead; I killed them. I plan to plead guilty and waive my right to trial."

"Why're you turning yourself in?"

"Personal reasons." Edward wasn't planning on going into any of that with anyone. No matter what he said, someone was going to want to examine it. He was better off simply refusing to give any reason at all.

"You're a fucking lunatic; you know that, right?" Mailk asked.

"As you wish, sir."

Mailk huffed and then snatched up the phone and barked out orders to the unfortunate officer who'd answered. "Get up here and book this asshole I got here in my office. Murder one. Not sure how many counts yet." He slammed down the phone before the officer could ask any questions.

"The DA's office will take care of you. I'm done. Enjoy jail."

Edward could see Mailk himself didn't really know why Edward angered him to such a degree. Edward chalked it up to the natural unease humans felt in his presence; it always manifested differently for everyone.

Shortly after the phone call, two uniformed officers appeared in the doorway. One was a tall, hardened female and the other a young rooky type boy.

"You call for us, Mailk?" the female asked. Edward read her name off of her badge, Officer Shane. She was thinking that the message given to her by the other officer must be a joke since it didn't look like the man in Mailk's office needed arresting.

"Yeah, this guy's confessing to murder one on a bunch of killings. Kale's looking into it now. Book him and get him out of my sight."

Officer Shane looked at Edward with surprise. "Him?"

Mailk turned red and pounded his fist on the desk. "Yes, fucking him. Get him out of here!"

Edward hadn't been expecting that and shrugged his shoulders at Shane as if to say he didn't know why Mailk was acting as he was. Shane shrugged back before catching herself, and then approached Edward.

"Sir, please stand up and face the wall. Spread your legs and place your hands on the wall beside your head."

Edward did as he was asked, and Shane motioned the rooky forward to do the actual search. She kept a close eye on him and was satisfied with his thoroughness. Edward was a bit less pleased about it, as the man's thoughts revealed a bit too much appreciation for the form he felt under the clothes. The boy hadn't come out of the closet yet to his fellow officers and wasn't sure if he ever would. If he kept manhandling Edward, though, Edward would be more than happy to take care of it for him.

The only thing the officer found was Edward's driver's license, which he handed over to Officer Shane.

"Sir, since we're already in the station and you're turning yourself in, I don't feel cuffs are necessary. You're planning to remain cooperative; am I right?" Shane asked.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Good. Officer Allcock here is going to walk you down to booking."

Edward hadn't bothered with looking at the boy's tag, and couldn't hide his surprise at the suitability of Allcock's name. The thoughts in Shane's head revealed she caught the look and that it was completely unnecessary for Allcock to come out of the closet; he was already there. All the officers had been making a genuine effort to not haze the guy since he actually seemed good at the job, and these days, it put their own jobs too much at risk. Still, with a name like that, it was incredibly tough.

Shane also showed surprise at how she and the man they were arresting appeared to be wordlessly communicating. It disturbed her, and she pushed ahead of Edward and Allcock to go gather the paperwork she needed for the booking process.

Per procedure, Officer Allcock had to keep his hand on Edward's arm as they walked down to booking. While he remained professional, Edward could see a fantasy pushing it's way into the officer's head, almost against his will. He'd never been attracted to a man he was arresting before, and it bothered him deeply. Edward felt bad but could hardly explain that it wasn't the officer's fault. Seeing himself in Allcock's eyes, he hated being reminded of his perfection, and the purpose it had for drawing prey to him. The damned dark copper hair, enhanced features, and slim, taught body were overkill considering he could easily overpower anyone he wanted. It was unnerving, with his gift, to have to watch them all fantasize about him, even while feeling their nerves tingle in fear at his presence.

Thankfully, the walk to booking was a short one, and Allcock left after depositing Edward into a chair. Quickly, Edward shifted all his focus onto Shane's thoughts in an attempt to avoid finding out what Allcock planned to do with his now uncomfortable physical situation. Unfortunately, he shifted focus a bit too late.

"Your walk down here okay?" Shane asked, a little concerned that her rooky may have actually made a move on the handsome man.

Edward made sure to school his face back into impassivity before replying. "It was fine. Thank you."

"All right. I'm going to ask you some questions, and then we'll head over to do fingerprints and the photo."

The first test of his human facade was coming then, the fingerprints. Jasper had assured him over and over that the super thin silicone shield covering his hands and giving him actual ridges and whorls exactly as a human had would be undetectable. Still, it could all fall apart here if it was revealed he had no prints.

"Officer, might I get a cup of coffee?" Supposedly, the shields would work fine even at his cold temperature. Still, Jasper had noted that if he could get his hands warmed up first, all the better.

Shane raised her eyebrows at the request, coming as it did, as if they were in a restaurant and not in the middle of an arrest, but decided to get him what he wanted on the off chance he was about to go ape shit any moment and start acting like a real killer. A secretary was typing nearby, and Shane asked him to go grab the coffee.

As they waited for the drink, Shane asked Edward for his full name, address, and other pertinent biographical details. It was all easy enough for Edward to feed her the information he and Jasper had worked up. Edward knew Jasper sorely disagreed with everything Edward had been doing, from the killings to the surrender, and Edward would be eternally grateful to him for agreeing to help anyway.

Shane informed Edward that his license would be held until such time as Edward was released or it would be forwarded on to whichever authority he was assigned to.

The coffee arrived, and Edward thankfully wrapped his hands around the Styrofoam cup, trying to avoid actually breathing in the horrid aroma. He made as if to take a sip, before drawing back and mumbling, "too hot" as an explanation for why he wasn't drinking.

"Well, Mr. Cullen, I'm afraid you're going to have to leave it then. We need to get over to the fingerprint machine."

"Yes, Ma'am, I apologize. I don't want to hold anything up."

Shane stood and gestured for Edward to rise before taking his arm in her hand and heading into the next room. Thankfully, she was more interested in the mystery he presented than his actual physical appearance, and a repeat of the episode with Allcock was avoided.

"Sir, as you'll see there's an outline for each hand on the glass. Place both hands in the outlines and then wait for the light to flash above each finger signifying the print on each has been captured."

Edward took in a bit of a breath before carefully placing his hands on the glass. He stared at the little embedded LEDs with enough intensity to turn them on himself it seemed and was rewarded as each little light finally turned on one at a time over his fingers. Shortly, all ten were lit, and Edward was able to relax again.

"Okay, sir. Please step over here and stand on this piece of tape. Look straight ahead at the camera."

Shane stepped off to the side and pushed a button on the wall, snapping Edward's photo. Gone were the days of the arrested needing to hold a numbered sign. It was all done digitally now.

"All right, Mr. Cullen. Booking is done. I'll be taking you to your cell now. You behave for us, and you'll have a nice, easy night."

Edward nodded and allowed Shane to lead him to the jail. There were a few large cells, each populated with several people. One cell had all women, the rest were for the men. As much as possible, the police attempted to segregate by nationality as it simply made for less fights. The so called "white" cell looked to be filled with mostly drunks and gangster wanna bes. Hopefully, Edward would only spend one night here. After the arraignment, he was aware they'd take him to a different part of the jail which had single cells for longer stays.

Shane gently ushered Edward into the cell before backing out and locking the door.

"I have to say, this is the oddest thing I've seen since starting here, and that's saying a lot. I hope you know what you're doing."

Edward didn't really know how to respond to that and chose to give another wordless shrug before heading to sit on the bench that bordered the cell.

Edward leaned back and rested his head on the wall behind him, hoping that the other men would leave him alone. He'd purposely made sure not to wear anything that would cause interest or covetousness in order to discourage unwanted attention. Unfortunately, there was always some idiot who had to make sure everyone knew exactly how stupid he really was. He knew it was coming, and didn't move a muscle when he felt the kick against his foot.

"You're sitting in my seat. Move."

Edward opened one eye and looked up at the person attempting to crowd him by standing too close. It was a punk kid, beefed up on steroids, more than likely completely unaware of how to use any of the muscle mass he carried around—not that it mattered. Deciding that making an example of the child would probably provide him with an uninterrupted night, he shot his knee up and to the left, crushing the testicles of the boy. He dropped like a stone at Edward's feet, and Edward gently slid him further away from him on the cement floor and then went back to his restful pose. No one in the room said anything, and when the guard came in response to the screams, not a single one would point a finger at Edward, even the seasoned snitches who normally made their living on buttering up to the cops.

Satisfied with the outcome, Edward tried tuning out the less than savory thoughts of his cell mates by focusing the events that had brought him to this place. He was stunned sometimes at the magnitude with which he'd fucked up his life, or what he had that passed for a life anyway. Every decision that had led to this point seemed to make sense at the time, regardless of the warnings Alice had tried to give. Now, actually sitting in the jail cell, he had a feeling that he was going to regret this last decision most of all. A vampire in prison? It was like a bad joke, and if the Volturi got wind of it, they were not going to laugh.

Boredom. Edward hated to admit it, but all his lofty ideals aside, it was boredom that had truly set him on the path he'd chosen. Decade after decade living the vegetarian lifestyle with his adoptive family, the sole single in a family of couples, had worn on him to the point where he'd been ready to consider just about anything to alleviate the drudgery. Up until his major rebellion, he'd tried plenty of little things: drugging an animal and then feeding on it hoping to get high, torturing Alice by making crazy decision after crazy decision as quickly as possible, challenging Jasper and Emmett to constant fights they'd never win because of his mind reading ability. Really, his family hadn't put up much of a fight when he'd said he needed to get away for a bit.

Once he was on his own and living as a nomadic vampire, he could literally feel all the trappings of his pseudo human existence falling away. It didn't take much—witnessing a brutal murder—to make him take that last step: drinking from a human. He'd been on the killer and pulling the blood down his throat before he'd barely taken the time to consider his actions. It was sublime. For the first time in 92 years, the burning in his throat was gone. He found himself angry that Carlisle had kept this from him for so long. In a fit of defiance, he deliberately searched out another low life, this one a rapist, and drank even though he had no thirst. And so it began.

Eventually, Edward settled into his new way of life and only killed when necessary to satisfy his needs. As with all shiny new toys that are enjoyed too much, the luster soon tarnished, and Edward became blase about his diet. He still only fed from the nastiest scum he could find, but his conscience was coming back, and the line between him and them was blurring too much for comfort. Only one time, when he actually came across a serial rapist and knew that killing him would prevent future girls from the incredible pain, anguish, and grief did he feel a bit proud of his actions. Serial criminals were decidedly rare, though, and now that James Hunter was dead, that left only Edward Cullen in the state of Washington. It rankled quite a bit to be in the same category as that disgusting degenerate, rankled enough that Edward started to think of stopping, and maybe going back to his family and the vegetarian life style.

Edward tried, he really did, but his control was no longer there. He'd feel the burn in his throat and couldn't stop himself from seeking out the cure. Only, the cure had gotten worse than the disease. The burn in his throat would cease for a couple weeks, but the weight on his questionable soul only grew heavier and heavier. He realized he was going to need to do something drastic in order to stop.

It was while traveling on a city bus, trolling for his next victim, that the idea of prison came to him. There was an advertisement above the bus seats for an urban detox center that showed a prison cell on one side and a group therapy session on the other. While the idea of checking into a rehab facility gave him a brief chuckle, the image of the prison wouldn't leave his head. The idea rolled around and percolated in his mind at warp speed as he searched it for flaws.

In prison, he'd have constant exposure to the very people he needed to desensitize himself from the most. He wouldn't be able to risk a single slip up or his eyes would turn red and give him away. There would be no way out of the mess that wouldn't involve huge amounts of very public bloodshed and, in turn, Volturi involvement. By making it so the consequences of any slip up would be so dire, he felt he'd be sure to be successful.

Next, he had to consider other ways his secret could end up being revealed if things went wrong. He knew from loitering around criminals that he'd have to undergo a physical upon actually entering the prison. This would include a blood test. Thankfully, his family was adept at outside manipulation of computerized government records. Carlisle and Jasper would have no problem making it look like Edward's physical had been done prior to entering the facility for some reason or another. As long as Edward was shown to be healthy, they'd have no reason to question it or do it over again. This was Edward's hope anyway.

When he was ready to leave, all he'd have to do would be to fake his death. As long as he left enough evidence to make it look like he'd OD'd on some contraband drugs, an autopsy wouldn't be necessary. Eventually, they'd bury him in Potter's Field, and he could make his way out of the coffin at his convenience.

Edward knew this would never work without help from his family. Contacting them would be tough, but he thought they'd help him given the end result would mean he'd come home again.

"Cullen! On your feet! The DA is here to talk to ya."

Edward sighed inwardly at the guard's pathetic attempt at gruffness. In the man's thoughts, he harbored a very distinct fear of the men inside the cells. He was biding his time until he could be transferred to the mounted police unit and spend all his time working with horses.

Edward stood and approached the door before turning around and sliding his wrists through the slot designed for the purpose. Once he was cuffed, the guard opened the door and reached in to pull Edward out. Edward couldn't help but grin at the man, knowing it would unnerve him completely, especially getting a good glimpse of his unnaturally white, glistening teeth. Of course, the grin didn't quite reach his eyes which made him look all the more menacing. The guard's brain scrambled a bit, and visions of his wife and children flashed through his mind making Edward feel like an ass for tormenting the man. He almost apologized, but realized that would probably be taken the wrong way.

The guard calmed down once Edward's face wasn't completely demented looking, and they made their way to an interrogation room. Using more force than necessary, the guard attempted to toss Edward into the room, but Edward was only willing to go so far to appease him and simply walked in once the man finally released his arm. He could hear the man fervently hoping Edward would be questioned until well after the guard went off shift.

The room was simple and stereotypical: small round table with a couple simple, hard chairs around it and a camera mounted up high in the corner. Edward sat and waited for the representative from the district attorney's office to arrive.

After only a few moments, the door opened again and a tall, slim woman dressed in an inexpensive suit walked in. She took a look at Edward and then dropped the leather brief bag and file she was holding, scattering papers all over the floor. Whispering a quiet, "Fuck," she dropped down to pick them up while trying to keep an eye on Edward at the same time, as if afraid he would jump her at any moment. He could see she was very new to the job, fresh out of school, and about as nervous as a person could get to be in the same room with him.

"Ma'am, it's okay. I'm not going to do anything. I promise you're safe." Edward spoke quietly, hoping to sooth her a bit so she could calm down. He inwardly cursed the DA's office for sending a newbie on something that really deserved a more experienced attorney. Clearly, they still thought they were dealing with a nut job.

His words did nothing to settle her down, only making her more afraid now that she knew he could tell how scared she was. They'd told her that he was not dangerous, only delusional, and that was why no one was with her to question him. It was a bit of hazing, a bit of efficiency, and a whole lot of idiocy all at the same time. Edward was getting impatient and barely sat still as she finally picked up all her things and plopped heavily into the chair across from him. Hair fell into her eyes, and she puffed it up with a quick blow of air from her mouth while her hands anxiously moved papers around, her eyes trained on the table and going nowhere near the man she was to question.

"Okay, so, uhm, you're Edward Cullen and you think you killed a bunch of people?" she stammered out.

He rolled his eyes at her phrasing.

"I'm Edward Cullen, and I most definitely murdered several people with malice and aforethought," Edward stated in return.

She sighed.

"Look, I get it, okay? You came up with a bunch of names of low lives, you felt starved for attention, so you decided to come in here and stir up some shit to see what'd happen. Well, now you know. You've been booked, you've sat in the jail cell, now you're wasting the time of some low paid government worker sitting here talking to you. Can you be done yet?"

_For all her fear, she's a bit on the feisty side_, Edward thought.

"Ma'am, I know this is unusual. I know you haven't dealt with anything like this before. I can assure you, though, this is real. The people on that list are all dead. They were horrendous people, each and every one of them, and I gave them exactly what they deserved. If you want details, I can give you details. I'm waiving my right to remain silent, waiving my right to an attorney—I'll waive anything you want if it will get me in prison faster."

She leaned back in her chair and looked at him. It seemed now that they'd started talking, she was more comfortable with the situation. As long as there was someone to argue with, she was happy.

"Fine, here then." She took out a piece of paper and slid it over to him. "Your Miranda rights. Read it and sign.

She took out another piece of paper and sent that one across the table. "This waives your right to remain silent. It says you know you're being a moron by talking to me, but you're doing it anyway."

One last piece of paper skidded over to him. "This is for your most idiotic move yet—waiving your right to an attorney."

Edward looked at the pieces of paper piled haphazardly in front of him and then back up at her. "I'm happy to sign anything you want. You need to have the cuffs taken off first, though."

She reddened but otherwise kept her composure as she slowly got to her feet and stalked to the door.

"He's still cuffed! How's he supposed to sign anything?" she yelled out into the hallway.

"You told us to leave him cuffed!" was shouted back at her.

Edward could see her close her eyes and then gently she brought her forehead to the door jamb and banged her head. _O__ne. Two. Three._ Edward was afraid she was going to knock herself unconscious.

"Please, someone, come uncuff him?" she said quietly.

She turned around and sat back down, arms crossed and staring up at the ceiling while an officer came in and removed the cuffs.

Edward sat silently until the officer had gone back out and then quietly asked her, "Tough day?"

"You've got no fucking idea," she replied before catching herself and sitting up straight again.

He could see in her head that it had indeed been a rough day. She had the worst office in the whole DA's building, basically an old closet they sort of converted but that the janitor still stored odds and ends in. No one liked her because she was considered too smart and prickly for her own good. She didn't pay the proper respect to the old elephants sitting in their cushy offices and racking up plea bargain after plea bargain when it was easier than going to trial. They called her a rebel since she actually wanted to see the bad guy go to prison, no stopping at go, no collecting two hundred dollars.

"Hey," he said softly, waiting for her gaze to meet his before continuing. "Don't worry, I'm probably going to be the nicest, easiest criminal you'll ever have to deal with. Try to relax."

He could hear her heart beat slowing down a bit as her ire melted away a little. In her mind, she was admitting that so far, he'd been easier to deal with than the pricks back at the office. She'd been nothing but rude to him, and he'd only been kind in return.

"Sorry, I'm good." She straightened up and looked him head on. "I'm Paige Heartwell, by the way. From the DA's office as I'm sure you've figured out by now. Do you really want to sign those? You shouldn't. Even if you killed those men, you still need a lawyer. You have rights that need protecting."

Edward quickly signed the papers and handed them back. "They only thing that needs protecting are the people out there who might meet me on a bad day and never see daylight again. I belong in prison and would like to get there in the quickest way possible. Tell me what I need to do."

She told him. He had to go over each and every kill backwards and forwards. For each one, explain exactly why there was no body and what he did with it down to the most minute detail. And when he was done, he had to do it again, and again. One more time, just to make absolutely certain he wasn't lying and wouldn't finally trip himself up. Through it all, the camera rolled, and her pen flew across page after page of yellow legal notebook paper.

After three hours, she put her pen down and sat back against the back of her seat.

"Well, Edward, I guess you really did kill these men. I can't say I'm sorry they're dead, but it does look like you'll get that prison time you're hankering for so much. Hope you're happy."

Edward gave her a small grimace. "Happy isn't the word I'd use. I wish all of this wasn't necessary, to tell you the truth. But I've done what I've done, and now it's time to make it right."

She got up from the chair and headed over to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow at the arraignment. Part of me still thinks you're going to all of a sudden plead not guilty. And I have to say, I sort of hope you do, even if it will mean a fuckton more work for me. Later."

She swept out, slamming the door behind her as she called out an "I'm done," to the room full of cops. One of the young officers entered the room shortly thereafter and brought him back to the cell he'd left earlier. The horse loving guard had gone off shift and the new one was a more seasoned veteran who only gave Edward a quick look and grunt before going back to the Angry Birds game he was playing on his phone. Edward appreciated the irony of the cop killing pigs while on duty.

In the end, it really did go as smoothly as Edward had assured Paige it would. The arraignment was a simple affair; Edward was trotted out while charges were read and a simple plea of "guilty" was entered. The judge hammered him for a while about having no lawyer but eventually had to concede Edward was of sound mind and simply didn't want an attorney.

Again, Edward was sent to the jail; this time, his t-shirt and jeans were exchanged for a garish orange jumpsuit with the word "inmate" clearly written on the back. It stunk of body odor that could never be completely washed away along with cheap detergent, and it didn't fit right, but Edward felt a little bit better now that he had a physical representation on his body of his progress.

Weeks went by as the police and DA's office gathered all the corroborating evidence they needed to prove the men dead, actually declare them dead, and then move ahead with preparing for trial. Even though Edward was not putting on any defense, they still had to have all the Is dotted and Ts crossed before they could actually have him convicted for the crimes and sentenced to prison.

During his time in jail, Edward actually formed a friendship of sorts with Officer Shane and A.D.A Heartwell. They both had to meet with him several times to go over the murders. It was an arduous process, even with his help, getting enough evidence to confirm the deaths. The more the two women learned about the men Edward killed, the more they wanted to give him a medal instead of put him into prison. But they couldn't ignore the law: he'd killed, he'd surrendered, he'd have to go to prison.

Officer Shane was an interesting lady. Even with his mind reading ability, Edward couldn't determine if she was heterosexual or homosexual. She simply seemed not to have any sexual interest at all, one way or the other. And she seemed perfectly fine with that. She worked many more hours than she actually got paid for, and when she wasn't working, she volunteered at a local stable that gave equine therapy to children. Her family got the remainder of her time, and she apparently had a few nieces and nephews, whom she adored, but had no interest in having children of her own.

A.D.A. Heartwell, on the other hand, was most definitely heterosexual and much more free with her favors than her workplace demeanor suggested. While she followed a strict policy of never shitting where she worked, her control stringent enough that lewd thoughts of Edward had been nipped in the bud much quicker than he would have thought, pretty much any other male she came across had a pretty good chance of getting lucky. Careful and safe to a fault, she simply loved them and left them, moving on to the next so gracefully, they never realized they weren't the ones to give her the boot when the fun times were over.

What these two women had in common for Edward was that they were both living, breathing reminders of exactly what it was about humanity he needed to remember and respect. It was the complexity, the differences from one to the next, that separated them from being mere animals. The capacity for goodness and evil had to both be respected in that they were each evidence of the soul that existed within the human form. It was not his job to separate the good from the bad, that was a calling for someone far more exalted than he. No, If he ever had a chance of finding his own grace, then he needed to focus on the horribly tattered soul inhabiting his own dead body and pray that he could mend it tear by tear in the eternity he had before him. For helping him come to these realizations, he owed them both a huge debt, and he fully planned on compensating them both in some way as soon as he was able.

Eventually, all the ducks were lined up in their expected row, and a date was set for the trial in which Edward would be sentenced. The judge, erring on the extreme side of caution,and discerning that Edward truly did only want to be put in prison as soon as possible and was willing to do anything to that end, proclaimed that Edward would need to meet with an attorney at least once before the trial. Edward was irritated, and since this was all related to him via Officer Shane, he had no way of knowing the judge's true motivation, but in the end, it was a requirement that was easy enough to manage. Thankfully, the Cullens had an attorney on retainer, an attorney who'd had a laundry list of bar infractions and a cushy life he stood to lose if those infractions were ever made public. J.A. Jenks knew that when a Cullen made a demand, it had better be fulfilled to the letter.

The day Edward was to meet with his attorney, he was once again shone into the conference room where he'd been regularly meeting with Shane and Heartwell; hopefully, this was the last time he'd be in this room. He expected to see the short, round attorney, so was actually surprised when the thoughts of his brother Jasper were the ones approaching the station from outside. Jasper was being cagey, and only thinking of intricate chess movements he planned to try on Carlisle in the near future, but Edward would recognize the essence of those thoughts anywhere as being those of his incredibly intelligent brother.

When the door finally opened, it was all Edward could do not to snort in surprise at the vision before him. Jasper wore an extremely well disguised...well...disguise. Obviously the work of Alice, Jasper had aged a few decades and gained several pounds. His blond hair had been colored to a nondescript Grecian Formula brown, and his eyes were rheumy gray instead of gold. The chess moves in his head continued, and Edward was at a loss as to what the charade was all about. Thankfully, Jasper was well able to speak one thing, and think something else entirely.

"Brother Edward, good afternoon," Jasper intoned.

Edward raised his eyebrows. "What? You're an Amish attorney now?"

Jasper chuckled, "Nah, I just thought it sounded good."

"You're such a fucking venom stain. What are you doing here?"

"Well, Edward, that's what we want to know. We all think this has gone on long enough. It's time to get out of here and come home so we can all move on. Are you done being a prima-donna yet?"

Edward sighed; he knew his family thought him an overly emotional idiot. He didn't know any other way to be, though. He was what he was, fixed in place from the time Carlisle's teeth had sunk into his neck. Maybe if he'd had some bloody warning, he could have undergone counseling or something first before joining the undead.

"Look, you and everyone else can damn well move on without me. I'm here until I'm not anymore, and then I'll come find you. There's no reason for you all to wait."

Jasper shook his head at him. "You know that's not what I mean. Rosalie mopes around and hasn't worked on a car in months. Every time Alice has a vision, she wishes you were there to pluck it out of her head. Esme's family isn't complete without her first son. And don't get me started on Carlisle, Emmett, and me; the women are bad enough.

Briefly, Jasper let Edward into his thoughts in order to give him a look at exactly how gloomy the Cullen men had become. On a recent hunt, they'd come across a mountain lion, Edward's longtime favorite meal—other than human, of course—and they could all only stand and stare at it as it caught their scent and bounded away. A fine meal for any of them, but none would take what each felt rightfully belonged Edward. After seeing the lion, they'd all trudged home, none of them having any interest in the silly contests they usually enjoyed while hunting.

Again, Edward sighed and then let his head drop into his hands. He felt horrible for what he was putting them all through, he really did, but he didn't know how to stop the train he'd put into motion. And he truly felt if he did not see this thing to the end, he'd be back to hunting foul humans in no time.

"Jaz, please let me do this? I need to. I'll be back home as soon as I can, as soon as it's safe. Please?" He begged Jasper to absolve him and let him continue on in peace, without this guilt, too.

Jasper searched Edward's black eyes with his now clearnowclear gold, seeming to see the resolution and resolve there as he finally nodded his head and gave the table a quick thump with his fist.

"All right, then. Onward, Edward. I'll tell the family you'll be back when you're back and to just shake it off in the meantime. When you're ready, we'll be there. Oh, and Alice said to tell you that she already knows what you're going to ask her to send and she already went and got it from that hovel you were living in. She'll mail it to you as soon as you have an address."

Jasper raised his eyebrows like he expected Edward to explain what Alice was talking about. Edward chose to remain silent on the subject, not ready to explain, even to himself, why he'd taken that picture from one of his victims and why he wanted it sent.

Edward stood, and Jasper followed. They partook in a quick handshake, and then Jasper headed out the door after popping in a new set of lenses. Shortly thereafter, Officer Shane came and brought Edward back to his cell. As expected, he'd been moved to a single cell after the arraignment, and it had given him a taste of what he'd expect once he was moved to the penitentiary. Thankfully, all the worst offenders were housed in singles instead of doubles, and despite the peacefulness of Edward's surrender, he now had the distinction of being the most prolific killer in Washington's history.

The judge's requirement met, Edward spent the final evening before the trial second guessing every decision he'd made. He knew he must be driving Alice crazy right now as all sorts of ludicrous ideas ran through his head on how he could get out of this mess without bringing the Volturi down on his head. He started pacing the cell, barely able to stick to human speed as the urge to flash back and forth from wall to wall became stronger with each moment. Doubt filled his head as he really wondered if he'd be able to control himself once in prison. Even if he could, did it really make sense to subject himself to that? Fuck, he should have simply had his family take him to Alaska till he was back under control. But, no, that would have made too much damned sense. He had to choose the most difficult way. Banging his head against the wall, the crack of the concrete reminded him that he had to maintain the illusion of humanity, no matter how much he wanted only to fall apart.

Hearing his name in an approaching mind, Edward swiveled to block the on-comer's view of the wall, and waited for his visitor. Officer Shane; she had someone on the phone for him.

"Mr. Cullen." She'd never agreed to call him Edward, no matter how many times he'd asked. "You have a phone call. Normally, this wouldn't be allowed outside of regular hours, but I'm willing to make an exception here."

Edward bet it was Alice. No doubt she saw all the crazy futures coming and going based on Edward's panicked half-assed plans to break out of jail somehow during the night.

"Thank you, Officer."

Officer Shane handed a cordless phone into the cell and then retreated.

"Cullen."

"Edward, look, I know you don't want to know, but I couldn't not call because I can tell you're flipping out. There's no way you'd be considering fire bombing a whole police station to hide evidence otherwise. Which, by the way, won't work. So, I'm breaking your stupid edict and telling you everything will be fine if you just go to prison and carry on with your original ridiculous plan instead of making up new and even more ridiculous plans. Goodbye."

The dial tone replaced his sister's high speed, vampire pitched voice as she ended the call before he could say anything. He was used to his sister's frantic nature when visions started going a muck and wasn't surprised by her warp speed method of calming him down, which worked exactly as she'd known it would and was also conveniently too fast for any eavesdroppers to understand. Settled now, he called out to Shane letting her know the call was finished.

"Everything okay, Mr. Cullen?" she asked.

"Yes, Ma'am. All good. Just a family member trying to get me to change my plea at the last moment. I'm sorry if she alarmed you."

"No problem. I don't blame her. Killing is wrong, but there's something about you that still makes it hard to believe you did all you say. Honestly, I've enjoyed getting to know you. Don't ever repeat this to anyone—I'll deny it—but I'm going to miss you around here."

Edward gave Shane a small smile. "It's been nice getting to know you as well."

Shane nodded and then turned and left. Edward could see his image in her thoughts replaced with those of her nieces and nephews before she'd reached the end of the hall. Yes, she'd miss him, but not for long, and not very much. Which was as it should be.

Edward settled on the cot in his room and prepared to wait the night out. The ability to sleep would have been welcome, but he was used to keeping himself occupied while the world slept. Since being in jail, he'd been interested to note the dreams of the other inmates really weren't all that different from those of the free people outside. Hard core pimps dreamed of children they never got to see and parents they'd wronged. Drunks dreamed of becoming successful someday, and staying off the sauce. Prostitutes woke in a panic because they'd dreamed of being naked in front of an audience. Time went by reasonably fast as he dipped in and out from one dream to the next.

Morning broke, and the thoughts of nearly all the employees in the building centered on Edward. It was a big deal for the station, putting away a violent criminal with nearly no work necessary on their part. Made them look good without having to actually put forth effort. Some people still wondered if Edward had killed all of the people he claimed. A few thought he was incredibly lazy and only wanted to live off the government even if it meant being put in a cage. Others knew better, and felt a modicum of respect for his desire to repent and accept his punishment. Their thoughts drifted in and out of Edward's mind with little notice as he tried to mentally prepare himself for the day.

He'd been given the option of wearing street clothes to the trial, something typically done to help make the defendant look a bit less dangerous for the jury doing the sentencing. Since there would be no jury for Edward, and since he cared little at this point what he wore, he stuck with the orange jump suit he'd gotten used to. Alice would surely die a bit when she saw, but he couldn't think of her or any of his family now.

Officers milled about his cell a bit more frequently than usual wanting to make sure he didn't choose to suicide at the last moment.

Edward inwardly smirked at the thought of having such an option available to him; it's something he probably would have availed himself of long ago whenever the future loomed endlessly before him. Barely, he clung to the slight hope that he'd find a mate someday. The rational part of his brain was fond of pointing out that any female vampire he met would be too intelligent to saddle themselves with an overly emotional and impulsive male. The human females were altogether too tasty and breakable; plus, they didn't live long enough. He'd briefly considered going on a mermaid hunt, but hadn't figured out how he'd tell that to his siblings without them combusting into wisps of steamed venom from laughing too hard.

Finally, the time came for Edward to be taken to the courthouse. He was glad; the ridiculous turns his mind had been taking were making him feel a bit manic again. The drive over was quick and quiet as the officers in the van kept to themselves thinking they were allowing Edward silent time before his prison incarceration started after his sentence was handed down.

As the van pulled up to the courthouse, Edward could see throngs of reporters waiting for their first real glimpse of him. He winced, knowing his anonymity from the Volturi was over. Still, Alice said it was going to be okay, so they must ultimately decide to wait and see instead of taking any action. Even they would have a tough time extricating him from his current situation. They could hardly arrange a hit like the other Italian ruling family they shared a country with.

Thankfully, the van had it's own loading area below he courthouse where reporters were not permitted. He was taken from the van to a holding cell inside while the guards and officers made final arrangements to get him into the courtroom without pandemonium ensuing. In the minds of all of them, he could see there were crowds of non-reporters out there, too. People had gathered to show their support or condemnation for Edward. Some carried signs asking for him to marry them while others bemoaned the lack of a death penalty in their state. He was a little in awe of the impact his decision ended up having on the human population. Seeing it all now, he felt like an imbecile for not considering this aspect of things prior to taking action. Again, he was thankful he had Alice's assurance that everything would be fine. While he knew that could all change on a dime, nothing here seemed to be a potential trigger to change any decision that would impact him.

Officer Shane ended up being the one to retrieve him from the cell. She'd requested the job, thinking it might help him a bit to have a friendly face take him in. Her warm hand on his arm did provide a bit of comfort in that it was a tangible reminder of why he was doing this, warm—human.

There was a brief hullabaloo when Edward finally entered the courtroom. Even though he ducked his head, the reporters still got clear shots of him, and the place was abuzz talking about his good looks and youth. Whatever it was they were expecting, he wasn't it.

The bailiff had to do a bit of shouting, but finally the room settled down, and the room was called to order.

After all was said and done, it was very anticlimactic. The judge came in and read the list of charges, a count of murder one for each of the 147 people Edward admitted to killing over the past decade. Then, the judge asked Edward several yes or no questions: do you still plead guilty, do you still waive your right to an attorney, do you still waive your right to a trial? Edward gave a low, "Yes," to each, the sound of his voice carefully modulated to only reach the stenographer and not the reporters behind. A.D.A Heartwell was there but didn't have to say anything since it was all on the judge at this point. As it was all pre-planned, once the dog and pony show was done, the judge was ready to hand down the sentence—life without the possibility of parole—before darting back into his chambers to escape the noise from the press.

Reporters clamored to the front of the courtroom, begging Edward to say something, but he only turned away and followed Officer Shane out of the room, back into the holding cell.

Quietly, she undid his hand cuffs and then exited.

"Goodbye, Mr. Cullen. I hope, whatever it is you seek in prison, you find it."

"Thank you, Ma'am. I'll remember the kindness you showed me. Please convey the same to Ms. Heartwell. You both made a difficult situation far more bearable."

Giving her quick trademark nod, Shane turned away and headed back to her normal world, thoughts of some gifts she had tucked away for her niece's birthday already eclipsing Edward in her mind.

Edward sat and waited, knowing the next time the cell door opened it would be the guards coming to take him to prison, the final step on his journey towards absolution.

**A/N: Please pardon again the intrusion - just wanted to apologize for how slow updates are coming. Real life is crazier than normal and my time for writing has about disappeared all together. I've started the next regular chapter of this story, and promise that it will get finished. Unfortunately, I can't promise updates as fast as I was pushing out before. I hope you'll stick with me!**


	10. Ten: Fourth Letter from Edward

_Dear Bella,_

_Can you ever forgive me? I'm a fucking idiot._

_I'm writing this from my new cell. They had to move me in order to repair the damage I did to the last one after reading your letter. Not sure they buy the whole, "adrenaline rush" excuse for the sink getting ripped from the wall. I gotta tell you; it was a bit touch and go there for awhile. Wasn't easy to explain why they couldn't sedate me—couldn't subdue me. Thankfully, this was something we were prepared for—my stupid, asinine temper. Carlisle made it here in record time as my personal physician, and managed to sooth everyone while making my freakish behavior seem perfectly natural._

_Don't worry, I know the above makes zero sense; I know I don't even sound like me right now. Really, I'm about ready to be done with this farce. I've put my family through enough, and now I've gone and hurt you, someone who's already had more than her fucking share of hurt to deal with. If I thought it'd do any good, I'd steal a gun from a guard and blow my brains out. But, that option isn't quite available to me, lucky son-of-a-bitch that I am. Nope, no matter how badly I fuck everyone up, I've got to live with it till the bloody end of time. Yay me._

_See, Bella? You're not the only one that verbally vomits up a letter and then forces himself to send it out even though you know it's really not what you want the other person to read. But, you've been incredibly honest with me and given me your heart and guts every single time; how could I do any less? I have no idea what you'll think when you read this. When it comes to you, I have completely given up any hope of being able to predict your reactions. All the years I've walked this earth, hearing every single fucking thought everyone in a five mile radius has had, and yet I still can't manage something so simple as a pleasant exchange of letters. All you've done for me: the smiles, the introspection, those fucking nasty cake things, and I had to go and ruin it. I truly deserve no less than to be ripped to pieces and burned; I only wish I could offer you the match._

_Fuck! You've set the bar so damned high; I'd give anything to be able to rip this letter to shreds right now. You must think I'm crazy and psycho—suicidal too. I'm not. As long as you walk this earth, so shall I. When you go; I go. And please, believe me; I don't give a fuck if I never see so much as your ankle or touch more than your finger tip. After a century of no sex, I'm sure I can handle the seventy or so years you've got left. You never want to write to me again? That's fine; I understand and would expect no less after the bull shit I've spouted in these letters. But, the mate bond is forever, and I'll never want anyone else._

_Bella...if there's any chance at all you think you could feel safe with me, please tell me. These walls can't hold me, and I could make sure no one ever hurt you again. Once you see what I can do, you'd never worry about some frail human ever being able to get through me to you. I ache to protect you—literally ache. To know you're out there, and I'm in here—I'm amazed my physical form can contain the self-hatred I feel at these circumstances. It would have been so easy for me to introduce my feelings to you slowly and gently; we could have had our visit, and you could have maybe seen a bit of what I'm capable of. Then, when you were comfortable, and only if you asked, I would have left this place and gone to you, to be yours for as long as you wanted. Damn myself for rushing things-for trying to rush you!_

_I'm not going to rip this up, but I'm not going to write anymore now either. This letter has gotten so fucking ridiculous; I can't believe I'm actually going to send it._

_Love,_

_Edward_


	11. 11: Fifth Letter From Bella

Dear Edward,

This time, I sat and thought before writing—you;re right—I did set the bar too high.

So, my thought out response: You're a wack job—cool! I really should have figured it out all along. After all, how sane can you be to kill all those people and then turn yourself in? Turns out, there is no grand, deep reason for what you did—you're just out of your fucking tree crazy. That's great! Really fucking great.

I'll admit, I was worried at first; who wouldn't be after having some crazy, incredibly violent person declare everlasting love to them? But, then I checked; no one's ever escaped from the prison you're in. Oddly enough, I actually feel quite safe now. Try all you want, you won't get to me. So, fuck you. Can we still be friends? I've always wanted to be friends with a crazy person—just out of sheer curiosity.

So, tell me about these mad skills of yours? Exactly what were you planning to show me? I'd love to get a glimpse inside your head. Oh yes, that's right—you read minds too. How interesting that must be. Wonder what you'd see in my head, crazy boy. I know, I know, I'm probably setting back any therapy you may be getting by a zillion years. I don't fucking care, you're in there for life. You're NOT fucking getting out, so stop pretending that you are.

Hmmm, maybe I didn't spend as much time thinking this out before I sat down to write as I thought. Yep, still a bit more bitterness there. Oh well—if I thought I could say anything to you before, it's nothing to how I feel now. You're not even real anymore. It's like you exist in only two places, my mind and yours. The rest of the world probably sees you for what you really are—a psycho.

How excited you must have been to get my first letter—a chance to torment one of your victim's victims. Were you really bored before I came along? I wonder how you quench your thirst for blood since you've been incarcerated. There haven't been any reports of killings there. I picture you maniacally chasing after rats, all crazy eyed and frantic; heck, maybe you even eat them. After all, the prison is famous for its rat population. Whatever will you do after all the renovations are complete, and the rats are gone?

Ugh, Edward, I just can't keep this up. It's not in me to torture the disabled; it really isn't. I'm sorry. I'm just so mad at you! You made me like you and share pieces of myself that I never would have otherwise. How excited I would get every time I saw a letter from you in the mail. It was the only thing that could bring a bit of happiness to my days. You've taken that away now; I hope you know that. I don't know if you ever really cared for me even the tiniest bit but, if you did, I really hope you know what you've done.

I'll keep writing to you; after all, I'm a glutton for punishment. I guess I hold out hope that maybe your sick brain can be healed. Maybe there's some kind of magical combination of medicine that'll turn you back into the man I thought you were. You want to know the really fucking ironic thing? If you'd only gone a bit slower, and maybe showed even a modicum of tact and sensitivity; I very well could have fallen in love with you. Think of the fun you could have had with me then? I profess my undying devotion, and you then show me exactly what I came to love by introducing me to your headless pet mind-reading rat. Hah, too late now, sucker.

Since I got your last letter a few days ago, I've been going outside. Would you believe it? I don't know, I guess maybe knowing that no matter what I do, crazy is going to find me, I figure, no reason to hide in my rat hole of an apartment any longer. I haven't done much, only walked to the park down the street and back. There's a playground there, and I like to watch the kids run around and have fun. It seems like centuries ago since that was me. I wonder if you had a nice childhood? Mine was good, probably average. Had a lot of fun, got in trouble once in a while. Nothing that stands out as being all that horrible or great. What about you? Did something from when you were a kid make you the way you are now?

Well, I think I'm done writing now. I might wait a few days till I send this to you; I'm really not sure I want to hear what you have to say anymore. I almost wish you'd stop replying, and I could just keep writing to you and pretend the Edward I thought I knew was going to respond. Can you be him again? I'd really like that, even if it was all a hoax; I'd like the old Edward back, please.

Bella


	12. Twelve: Sixth Letter from Bella

_Well, you certainly put me in my place, didn't you? I tell you you'll never escape, and you go and fucking die on me. Why I'm even writing this, I'll never know. What the fuck, Edward? They say it was a heart attack, that you'd never had a history of heart disease, but a flaw in your atrium or ventricle or what the fuck ever it was that was apparently there from birth had been building all this time and finally took you out one night while you slept. No one heard you cry out or scream; it looked like you went all peaceful like. _

_I cried when I saw it on the news, cried like it was someone from my own family. It felt like I lost my own heart that day. I knew I'd grown attached to you—knew it was more than what would be considered healthy or normal considering all that's passed between us. Never would I have thought though that your passing would slay me this much. I swear, I can't explain it, but I actually feel worse than I did after that monster raped me. How the fuck did you make me love you this much? Is this even love? Love is supposed to be pure and beautiful. There's no beauty in this; it's all raw, open wounds and bleeding organs. I remember how I felt when my parents died; it wasn't like this at all. It hurt, but that hurt was from missing them, and knowing they weren't ready to leave yet. This, this is nothing like that. If someone came along and decided it would be fun to eviscerate me while I watched, maybe that would compare. Why is it so physical? How is it possible for my body to actually feel your absence from this earth? I hurt, Edward. I hurt so fucking much!_

_Are you really gone? I feel like such a fucking moron even writing these words on a paper that will probably never leave my apartment. But, what if you're not dead? What if you really did escape? I look at your last letter, and I think about what I wrote back to you; is this what you're capable of when you're well and truly angry? Some kind of fantastic trickery? Or, something else? Maybe what I feel isn't loss, but fear. Because, if you're not dead—if you somehow have managed to pull the biggest con in history—then where does that leave us? Especially in light of my last words to you? Am I grasping at straws to keep you alive? Or, do I hope you're really dead?_

_This apartment is a disgusting cesspool. I haven't left it since I heard the news—not even to take the trash to the incinerator. The smell in here is rotten and rancid, and it's not just the garbage and old, moldy food. I'm afraid to take a shower, to be hidden away from the rest of my apartment. The people in the other apartments know something's wrong. They've knocked and asked to come in; I've ignored them all. They jeer and call out that they can smell something foul and disgusting in here from the hallway. I don't care, but I know they'll be forcing their way in soon. I don't know what I'll do then; I have a feeling it won't go well._

_Please, if you can, come for me? Kill me or save me-whichever-only don't make me stay here anymore. I'm tired of being me and having only myself all the time. _

_I hear something out in my hallway again. Probably the landlord coming to force his way in. I fucking hate my life._

_**A/N: Well, I'm not sure how my readers will feel about this, but that's it. The end. I read and re-read what I wrote, and it all seems very much the way they would both react and I don't see it going any further while being able to keep within the letters format. It's up to your imagination what happens next...for now. Lol - I'm not that cruel! I'm going to finish Fear and Loathing - only a few chapters left - and then I'm going to start a part two to this story that will be in regular story format instead of letters back and forth. It will be a separate entry within my profile as I want to keep this one with just the letters and the one outtake from Edward. Thank you all again for all the great comments I've received - it's been awesome having so many people really enjoy this story and get involved with these two broken people. See you all for round two...**  
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